The Promise
by Fic Fairy
Summary: Connie's promise to Duffy aside, things remain strained between Connie and Charlie in spite of her best efforts in the online shopping department. However all that changes one fatal night when roles and reversed once more, and she needs him to look after her.


It was an abnormally quiet night in the ED. So abnormally quiet in fact that Charlie had settled down for 30 minutes of personal admin time, taking a break and dining on carrot batons and hummus whilst he checked his emails. Their contents were not unusual. One from Louis, checking how he was. A similar one from Duffy's son and daughter-in-law. An online banking statement, and a notification from Ocado that he was expecting a delivery the next day. He was just scanning the shopping list, pulling a face that fell somewhere between confusion and disgust when the door opened, and Robyn entered, looking unduly concerned.

Again, that's wasn't unusual. People generally looked concerned around him these days, especially Robyn. He looked at her questioningly, "Everything Ok?"

She shook her head, "Dr Hudson and Mrs Beauchamp are in cubicles."

Charlie paused for thought, digesting her words. At face value they made perfect sense, although two Consultants working cubicles seemed like overkill, and when Connie was on the floor she generally preferred resus over anywhere else, but it could happen. Except...

"They're not working."

It was a statement not a question but Robyn shook her head in response anyway. She took a seat opposite Charlie.

"Jan and Ruby brought them in." She explained, fuelling not only his confusion, but his concern as she continued, "Dr Hudson has dislocated knuckles and a broken nose."

"And Connie?" He surprised himself with the speed that he asked the question. It somehow seemed to match that of the rate that his heart was hammering. He hadn't thought he'd cared that much. Still, if Robyn shared his surprise she didn't let it show.

"Cuts to her face. Potential embedded glass." She looked at him awkwardly, "Dr Masum was going to treat her, but she refused. She wants you." She added the last words softly, and then looked at him questioningly, "Will you do it?"

He understood her question. He knew the rift between he and Connie hadn't escaped the notice of their colleagues, even though in the weeks since Duffy's death he'd tried desperately to bury his animosity towards her, because he knew it was what his wonderful, compassionate and caring wife would have wanted. But whilst he understood the question, it was a no brainer. He was a nurse first and foremost, and if she trusted him enough to treat her, he would be the one to do it.

He got to his feet, dumped the god awful carrot sticks in his bin, and then following Robyn out of his office, "Do we know what happened?"

Robyn just shrugged, "She's not saying." She hesitated before adding, "Charlie, her physical condition isn't too serious, but..." she faded out, saying more without words than she could have done with them.

He upped his pace, speeding to cubicles, having glanced at the screens at the nurses station to check where to find her. As he reached the right place he turned to Robyn, "I'll go alone." Her concerned look returned and he shook his head in response, "I'll be alright."

Opening the curtain to her cubicle, the first thing that surprised Charlie was how vulnerable she looked. Maybe he should have suspected it given all Robyn had said, but it still came as a shock; the way she was hunched up on the trolley, the dressing she held cautiously to her cheek, the blood in her hair and on her neck and her red eyes and pale and striken face. She looked awful.

He approached slowly, perching on the bed beside her. An unorthodox approach, but then Connie wasn't an average patient. She looked at him as he sat down and then quietly whispered,

"Thank you."

He shook away her thanks, leaning forward and taking the dressing from her hands to reveal a series of cuts on her face. There were no obvious signs of foreign objects in them, but he knew looks could be deceiving. Similarly they didn't appear to be too deep, and he had hopes that they wouldn't leave serious scars behind, although just looking at her he was growing increasingly concerned that the worst scars would be psychological rather than physical.

"I'll get you patched up." He said, as he rose again, beginning to gather what he needed to treat her. He let silence hang briefly in the air before he gently asked, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She stared at him, introducing her own silence, and he could tell she was really wrestling with herself, opening her mouth several times to speak, but not being able to find the words, as her eyes filled with tears again, and eventually her lips clamped shut as she shook her head. Patiently he sat back beside her, and smiled reassuringly, as he began cleaning her wounds.

"Ok." He said softly, concentrating on his work, but also allowing himself occasional eye contact with her, wanting to monitor her closely, "But maybe you can answer me another question... what exactly is quinoa?"

x x x

The grocery deliveries had made their first appearance the week after the funeral. He and Robyn had been sat eating a takeaway curry one evening when his phone had pinged ominously, and an alert had popped up saying he was due a delivery the next morning. Had it been from Sainsbury's or Tesco's he would have presumed it was one of the kids being supportive from a distance, but the Ocado branding gave her away from the outset. At that juncture, possibly even more so than when Duffy had died, he was really struggling with his feelings towards Connie, and he'd been tempted to tell her where to stick her brown rice, and smoked salmon and asparagus tartlets, but actually, just browsing the list of items she'd selected gave him and Robyn a much needed laugh, and so, against his better judgment he'd decided to accept the delivery.

And when it arrived, even though he didn't really understand why milk from oats was better than milk from cows, or why he needed duck eggs instead of those from chickens, it actually made a pleasant change from the takeaways he'd been living on, and so, somewhat grudgingly he dropped her a text to thank her.

So she did it again. And again. And again, to the point where by the time he was due to return to work it had become routine and it no longer surprised him when the latest confirmation landed in his inbox. Which was why, on his first day back, he'd knocked on her office door, and said thank you. In person.

He'd never forget the look on her face as he did as long as he lived. She'd looked so happy, so relieved, like she'd been absolved of all guilt of her wrongdoings, and it took him straight back to that god awful day in resus when she'd touched his shoulder, and he'd let her in spite of everything she'd done to Duffy because he felt he'd had to.

And that made him angry all over again.

And so, they'd not spoken about it again. He'd gone on, accepting her charity, her kindness, letting her keep her promise to Duffy, but doing it in such a way that he could keep her at a safe distance. So he could avoid having to deal with her and the emotions she provoked in him.

Until that moment. The moment with the quinoa.

x x x

She looked at him, and in spite of her obvious trauma he was pleased to note that his question had the desired effect, as she smiled.

"It's a pseudo cereal." She murmured, wincing as she did so, clearly in pain from the lacerations on her face, "It's good for you." She hesitated, and then added quietly, "I'm trying to look after you."

For the first time, ever since she'd first uttered them in resus, the words, the sentiment, didn't perturb him. How could he feel angry with someone who was clearly in such a fragile state? Especially her. No matter what she'd done, there was a bond between them, and he was fast realising, much as he would have liked it to have been, it was one he was unable to break permanently.

"Well," he replied softly, "I'm looking after you now." He tilted her head slightly, in part to get a better look at her cheek to check for glass, but also because he felt now was the right time to break eye contact to give her a minimal amount of privacy, as he gave her another gentle push to open up to him, "Please tell me what happened."

The answer, when it came, came not from her, but a whirlwind in the form of a young Police Officer, who, without warning or invitation arrived in the cubicle, wafting a notebook around with an over zealous look on his face.

"Mrs Beauchamp, I'm PC Richards. I'm here to take your statement about the events of this evening. Now, I don't want you to worry about a thing. We take hate crime very seriously." He barely paused for breath before adding, "Now do I understand a sexual assault took place, as well as the physical assault?"

His words threw up more questions than answers for Charlie, and came so rapidly that he was still attempting to catch up when from his side, Connie responded, no longer withdrawn and timid, but straight back into full on Clinical Lead mode.

"GET OUT." Her words were snarled, and as Charlie glanced at her, the image that came to mind was a wounded animal, striking out through its pain. For her tough outward exterior, she was clearly close to breaking point, and it was unsurprising given PC Plod's handling of her, and truth about her assault that he'd revealed.

"You should leave." Charlie adddressed the young office, firmly, politely, but only just resisting the urge to knock his helmet off. "And when my patient is ready to speak to someone, I suggest we make it someone who has had some sensitivity training, because your bedside manner is really lacking."

As he slunk away, tail between his legs, Charlie turned back to Connie, who with his departure had lost the fight in her eyes, and was breathing shallowly, a hand in front of her mouth, clearly trying to avoid vomiting. Almost without thinking he reached out and lay a calming hand on her shoulder, stroking her neck, trying to calm her as once again his thoughts turned back to the policeman's revelations.

"You were sexually assaulted?"

He tried to keep his tone level, and measured, knowing that she'd be hating that he knew, and would be desperate to avoid any fuss, but inside he was deeply concerned, knowing that she was a troubled enough young woman, without needing any further challenges to face.

She lowered her hand, revealing she was biting her lip, and then shook her head, forcing a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"It wasn't serious," she said softly, "just," she lifted her hand to her breast, touching it lightly through her shirt, "here." She closed her eyes, managing to do so just as a tear rolled down her cheek, "They groped me, that's all."

He moved closer to her, cautiously putting an arm around her; not sure how she'd feel about it. Or indeed how he would. But it felt surprisingly natural, and he found himself planting kisses in her hair, wanting to reassure her. She leaned into him, and seemed to calm a little, at least enough for him to make some further enquiries.

"And the glass?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him tearfully, taking a deep breath clearly trying to steady her emotions. It took a few moments, but finally, slowly, she answered.

"Archie saw, she saw them touching me. She punched one of them, he hit her back and the other one..." she swallowed hard, appearing increasingly overwhelmed by the situation, "he threw a glass. It shattered. I got caught in the crossfire."

She broke then, and that combined with the revelation that she'd been assaulted by multiple assailants shook Charlie to the core. But, something was still niggling, he knew he was missing a piece of the puzzle. Something the policeman had said when he'd put his Size 9s right in it.

And so, he held her as she cried, but as her sobs slowed, he braced himself and finally asked the question,

"Connie, what did he mean, our friendly neighbourhood probationer?" He felt her stiffen in his arms, and knew he was hitting a nerve, but all the same, he needed to know, needed to understand, "How was this a hate crime?"

Her body language was clear. She looked at the floor, the ceiling, the bed, the curtain, anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid his gaze. And he allowed her that, but he reached for her hand all the same, gave it a squeeze, tried to let her know she could tell him anything. At first he thought it wasn't going to work, but then slowly, and clinically she spoke,

"Because the victim," she spat the word out, clearly hating viewing herself in that way, and then subtly corrected herself, "victims, were a pair of..." she paused, "dykes." Again the word was forced from her lips. Coldly, harshly, before she followed up, leaving Charlie in no doubt that she was quoting her attackers, "A pair of filthy, rotten lesbians who needed a good seeing to." The hard edge to her voice disappeared, and in seconds she was close to breaking again, "They groped me because they'd seen me kissing her, Charlie." She buried her head in her hands, sobs started to wrack her body as she clarified, "They'd seen me kissing Archie."

x x x


End file.
